


The Game of Life

by esoteric_criterion



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression, Emotional Baggage, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Season/Series 02, Suicide Attempt, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-01
Updated: 2017-04-01
Packaged: 2018-10-13 12:30:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10513812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esoteric_criterion/pseuds/esoteric_criterion
Summary: A part of him tried, and failed, to reason with himself. 'This isn't the way to go.'What other options did he have? He lost everything. His family, his friends, his team, his fiancé, his job, his apartment, his hope, his motivation, and more importantly:He lost himself.Dick tilted his head back, face up to the sky. He let the sky rain down upon him; relished the feeling of the droplets hitting his skin. He lifted the gun to his head ever so slowly. No turning back now. He was in a perpetual game of life- and now he's found his way out. He can't give up when he's come this far already.Three. Safety off.Two. Clear your mind. You won't have to suffer for much longer.One.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So this was a result of me trying to relieve my emotional baggage as of late. Sorry not sorry? Eh it all turned out aight. Huge thanks to my beta for sacrificing a fraction of their time and effort <3

Dick had officially just lost everything.

It started with the Team. He understood they were mad at him for not being honest. They were hurt that he faked both Artemis' death _and_ Kaldur's betrayal, but what topped it all off was when Tula came back as well. As soon as they found out that Dick used her to give Kaldur a reason to switch sides, that was the last straw- for everyone. Even Artemis and Kaldur, who'd been on his side of the argument, couldn't help but be angry. He never thought these actions would get him completely kicked off the Team. He thought he was just doing the only thing he could do in a hard situation like that. They stripped him of his position as leader before voting him off.

The next thing to completely go was his relationship with Bruce. They'd been arguing on and off for the past two years. Their last fight turned out to be a particularly nasty one. Dick had taken Tim out to patrol Blüdhaven one night. Of course, one of the thugs managed to get a lucky shot in, and the bullet immediately found itself lodged in Tim's side.

Bruce had been beyond angry. The two had argued as Tim lay unconscious in a nearby bed in the Batcave. It started out as a discussion of Dick's growing impulsiveness and irresponsibility. Of course, Dick began to get defensive, and it began to turn into a shouting match. Eventually, Bruce had gotten so worked up to the point that he slapped a very shocked Dick across the face and ordered him to never come back. That was the first time Bruce had ever laid a hand on Dick, and it stung- in more ways than just physically.

  
After losing his friends and family, he'd found himself somehow aligned with the Outlaws. He tread lightly as not to anger them enough for them to leave him as well. By then he'd developed severe abandonment issues. The loneliness was consuming. The Outlaws understood this, even if they were pretty rough around the edges. He was just like them now; misfits, no longer able to fit in with their former loved ones. He was an outcast.

  
Eventually him and Kori ended up dating. They were together for months; with her, he finally felt the frozen edges of his heart begin to thaw. They were set to be married at the end of that very year. Then- as if fate wanted nothing more to do with him than to ruin his life- she was gone. The Outlaws had gone on an off-world mission, and it had gone to complete hell. Kori had gone missing somewhere amidst the chaos. Red Hood and the Arsenal had returned with nothing more than a shredded piece of her costume.

Dick remained in a state of mourning. He spent weeks brooding, skipping work days, and shutting himself out of the Outlaws. He was discharged from the police force a month after Kori's disappearance under the reasoning of exhibiting signs of mental instability and failure to perform his duties. Without a job, he could no longer pay his bills. He didn't have enough money to pay for his apartment, and his landlord gave him 30 days to either get the money or get out.

As if it couldn't get any worse, Nightwing had his first major failure. A school bus of children were brutally slaughtered by none other than the _Blockbuster_. He had been seconds too late, and there had been nothing worse than the devastated parents of the children blaming it on him. In fact, that incident had caused him to lose the already unsteady truce Nightwing had with police. He was now a wanted man.

All of this had driven him over the edge. He was never happy anymore. At first he felt angry at both himself and the world around him. He tried not to let it show, but it seeped into his fighting style and his tongue. He’d begun saying some harsh words to people who may not have deserved such cruel treatment. At night he would frequently find himself losing control of himself. He would beat up criminals unnecessarily hard. He’d even go as far as to put some in the hospital.

Next came the incredibly overwhelming feeling of worthlessness. He felt as if he was just a nobody; he wasn't good for anything, so why would anyone bother with him? It resulted in severe depression. He started to cut himself. He thought that if he felt more physical pain than your average street thug could dole out, it might take away from the nagging ache deep inside of his heart. He could deal with the physical pain.

When that had passed, he began to just grow tired. He didn't have the drive to get out of bed in the morning. He didn't have the drive to make himself food. He didn't even want to go out on patrol at night. His days were spent either sleeping in his bed or staring blankly at the ceiling of his living room from his couch.

  
Finally, all these feelings were replaced with a sense of numbness. He didn't feel, couldn't feel anything. No emotions, good or bad.

Dick just wanted it all to end.

One night, he worked himself up to do what needed to be done. At first he'd been overcome by a small shred of doubt, but then it was gone before he could even dwell on it. He knew what to do.

In a daze, he carried himself up to the roof of his apartment. He faintly remembered grabbing something before coming out here. He couldn't remember what it was, but he knew it was still clutched in his left hand. It was also raining steadily, the fat droplets of water pelting down at him from above. He didn't care. It would just help to wash away his mess. Maybe make the clean-up easier on the police.

  
He dropped to his knees, just inches away from the edge of the building. Something cool slid out of his hands and onto the roof before him. He kept his head bowed and his eyes closed to rest his weary lids. The rain had soaked him to the bone within seconds; he was cold and wet. He couldn't find it in himself to care. Once upon a time, the rain would make him feel energized. Now, however, he just felt as if the world were showering him with its problems as well as spitting his own back in his face.

He slowly peeled open his eyes. They were immediately attracted by the dull sheen of a dark metallic object. His hand gun. Or rather, it used to be his gun. He was supposed to return his uniform, badge, and handgun by the end of the week.

Dick let his hands find the gun on their own. He slid the cartridge out to check to the rounds; he had two left. Two chances.

 _Click_.

He took a deep breath as he slid it back into place. For a moment, just a brief moment, he just stared at the gun in his hands. A part of him tried, and failed, to reason with himself. _This isn't the way to go._

What other options did he have? He lost everything. His family, his friends, his team, his fiancé, his job, his apartment, his hope, his motivation, and more importantly:

_He lost himself._

Dick tilted his head back, face up to the sky. He let the sky rain down upon him; relished the feeling of the droplets hitting his skin. He lifted the gun to his head ever so slowly.

No turning back now. He was in a perpetual game of life- and now he's found his way out. He can't give up when he's come this far already.

 _Three_.

Safety off.

 _Two_.

Clear your mind. You won't have to suffer for much longer.

 _One_ -

"Dick, wait... don't do this."Dick stiffened at the mention of his name. His moment's hesitation was enough for the person behind him to swiftly remove the gun from his hand. Of course, he didn't try to stop them. He could try again another day; those bullets would still be there for as long as he kept the gun. Besides, there were other ways to go.

  
"What are you doing here, Roy?" He asked. Of course, it wasn't the Roy he was used to. This was Red Arrow the clone, not Arsenal. He was genuinely curious, but his tone came out flat and lifeless. He vaguely wondered if he sounded rude.

" _What the hell am I_ -" Roy repeated the question in a mixture of angered confusion. "Dick, I'm here because of _you_ , jackass. What the hell were you even _thinking_?"

Dick finally turned his head to meet his converser. He stared with hollow eyes into the red-head's furious blues over his right shoulder. "I'm _tired_ Roy. I can't...I don't...." He couldn't find the right words anymore. It was if everything he'd ever learned had been washed away with the rain. He was just a shell of the person he wanted to ( _or could_ ) be.

The anger on Roy's face melted into that of concern. "Dick-"

"Don't." Dick cut him off. He didn't want to hear Roy's lecture on how much left he had to live for and all that other glorified bullshit. He let his chin fall down to his chest and closed his eyes once again. By now, the downpour had lightened into a sprinkle.

Roy was quiet for several moments. He let Dick sit there for a while before speaking up again. "You're coming with me." He reached out an arm out to pull him up; the other still contained the gun.

Dick didn't even put up a fight. He let Roy drag him to his feet and tug him along to the escape ladder. In a daze, he found himself down onto the streets, following Roy with an empty head.

It was only when Dick's reason kicked in and he realized where they were going that he hesitated. They were traveling towards the east side of Blüdhaven along Second Main Street; right where there happened to be a Zeta Tube. Upon this revelation, he simply stopped in his tracks. "No." He stated simply.

Roy stopped as well. He turned around and gave Dick a pointed look. "You're coming with me whether I have to fucking _drag_ you or not. I swear, I'll even call up to the Watchtower so they can send someone to help me."

"They won't come."

Roy advanced towards him menacingly. The anger was as evident on his face as the sun was on a clear morning. For a second Dick thought that Roy might throw a punch. Instead, he jabbed a finger straight in the middle of Dick's chest. "See, this is _exactly_ why you're coming with me. You think nobody cares about you. You think everyone couldn't give two shits about whether you die or live. Why don't you get it through your thick fucking skull that we still care about you? Sure, a lot of us got pissed at you for shit load of reasons. That doesn't mean we won't be there for you when you need us the most."

Dick just stood there, staring at the shine of his own shoes. For the first time in over a week, he felt real emotion. He felt confusion and shock and fresh heartache and guilt all rolled up in one.

“You were there for me when _I_ lost myself.” Roy continued on a much quieter note. “I didn't know what to do, where to go. I was so obsessed with finding the original Roy that I didn't even think to care for my own needs. Then, just when it started to get worse, you came to knock some sense into me.” He slipped an arm around Dick’s shoulders. “I want to do the same for you, Dick. Now come on. Let's go.”

  
They continued the rest of the way to the Zeta beam in silence.

|||••••••••••••••••••••|||

Dick could feel the stares as soon as they entered the Watchtower. Judging. Calculating. He didn't want to, was ashamed to, _couldn't_ look up.

A shadow passed in front of him, and suddenly the stares were gone. Roy had understood. He had stepped in front of Dick, shielding him from view.

  
"Roy, what's going on?"

Roy twitched at the question as if it offended him. "None of you can swallow your pride long enough to open your eyes.” He spat in anger. “I had a talk with Arsenal the other day. He mentioned how he and Red Hood were worried about Dick. I understood the predicament because I went through it myself.” Roy shot Dick a quick look before continuing in a much softer tone. “I found him with a gun to his head."

Silence hung over the room. Nobody spoke. Dick almost would have preferred that they did. If they'd yelled, screamed, muttered to each other, _anything_ other than this deafening silence. After months of living in solace, he couldn't stand the silence anymore.

Tim came to stand in front of him. Dick briefly looked up to study his features. Boy had he grown; he no longer had the soft baby face, but instead the sharp features of a handsome young man. He was taller, leaner, and had more muscle mass to him. His expression held so much hurt and worry. “Why?” Tim choked out. His voice had deepened as well. His sweet baby brother that he couldn't even look directly in the eyes, that he couldn't even give an answer to, had been growing up without him to even witness it. Dick began to feel overwhelmed. He had let everyone down. He was such a disappointment. It was all his fault, all of it.

He felt Tim’s arms wrap around him, and he couldn’t help but flinch. He didn't deserve their attention, much less their concern. He tried to blink back the tears that threatened to start streaming down his cheeks. He hadn't even realized he was about to cry.

His arms, which had hung hesitantly at his side, slowly wrapped around Tim’s body. Dick immersed his nose into Tim’s spiked hair. He hadn't stopped using that same stupid hair gel. He closed his eyes, a single tear escaping from his right eyelid. “I'm so sorry.” He whispered, his words getting lost in the dark strands atop of Tim’s head.

Tim got the message. He squeezed tighter, his face buried into Dick’s neck. “You have nothing to be sorry for.” Tim murmured back.

Just like that, Dick felt the numbness in his heart reside. He let out a strangled sob, followed by a sharp intake of breath. More tears began to slide down his face. Before he knew it, he was crying freely with his baby brother in his arms, his fingers curled around fistfuls of Tim’s cape.

“You didn't want to die, did you?” Tim asked him quietly. He sounded a bit choked up as well. Dick knew that he was trying his hardest not to start crying himself; Tim had always been an empathetic person. At least that had never changed.

Dick shook his head. He hadn't wanted to die. He’d deeply wished that somebody would save him, that somebody would come and take the pain away. He'd just gotten tired of waiting. He'd just wanted the pain to stop.

Dick felt someone wrap their arms around him from the right side. Then from behind him. Then from his left side. Before he knew it, he was surrounded in a cocoon of warmth. He opened his teary eyes to observe.

The entire Team was surrounding him in one giant group hug. They had varying expressions. Some were crying along with him, some had somber smiles, some showed open pity, some had looks that told him that they could relate.

He allowed his own smile to form on his face. It was shaky, but it was real. Roy was right. They did still care about him.

He still had a family, and, perhaps, he’d never lost them in the first place.


End file.
